


bright eyed creature

by sapphic_werewolf



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dreams, F/F, Face Slapping, If You Squint - Freeform, Light BDSM, Praise Kink, Smut, look my feelings on missy are mostly like "god i know she's evil but she's fucking hot", they don't actually fuck but there's a lot of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 11:56:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20488505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphic_werewolf/pseuds/sapphic_werewolf
Summary: Osgood stops being hunted by the Mistress and starts being devoured.orOsgood's sex dreams pretty much always feature Missy. She should do something about that.





	bright eyed creature

**Author's Note:**

> (hey y'all, i wanna make a note upfront that consent, while not spoken about in the dream, cause i couldn't find a way to make it flow with the characters, is enthusiastically given from both parties. Osgood's dream plays like a BDSM scene, i guess?)
> 
> here's my best attempt at some Osgood/Missy smut, cause i love the pairing but couldn't find a way to write them that didn't feel super unbalanced in terms of power dynamics so, dream sex. set before Missy kills the other Osgood, or in an AU where the other Osgood didn't die cause that's a whole new can o worms. enjoy!

Osgood dreams of Missy nearly every night. Missy, eyes glinting like fool’s gold, first with hunger, then with lust. The dreams never start the same, but there is always the  _ peripeteia _ , the recognition and reversal - the second Osgood stops being hunted by the Mistress and starts being devoured. Her smile is cruel, and it makes Osgood shiver. 

“Do I scare you, poppet?” asks Missy, her body flush against Osgood’s - too hot, so hot, burning and burning and burning. Osgood says nothing, just squirms against Missy’s grip, a half-hearted attempt at escape. 

Sometimes Osgood does break free. Sometimes Osgood runs until her lungs give out and she hungrily laps at her inhaler, shoved into some tiny corner of the tardis, making herself as small as possible, trying to quiet her ragged breathing. But Missy always finds her. Tonight, her eyes glitter as she regards Osgood languidly, backlit by corridor lights, the sole source of light. Slowly, Missy comes closer until her eyes are the only shining thing. She waits until Osgood catches her breath. Osgood stands frozen as Missy plucks the inhaler from her grip and tucks it gently back into Osgood’s pocket. 

Missy’s hands dance up Osgood’s side, just enough so that she’s leaning forward into her touch, just enough that Missy notices (because she always notices) and sneers at her. Osgood’s knees go blissfully weak, and yet by some miracle she remains standing, breath caught in her throat as Missy traces the column of her neck, the curve of her jaw, the soft pink of her lip (and when Osgood lets out the smallest of whines, Missy at once slips two fingers inside her mouth and oh god, does it feel good to be touched, and oh god, does it feel good to be manhandled and she sucks at Missy’s fingers while Missy coos at her,  _ my pet, my love, my desperate little thing. I could choke the life from you right now, and you’d get off on it. Look at you, so willing to please, my sweet one, my lamb, my Osgood.  _

Missy sticks her fingers down Osgood’s throat until she gags once, twice, three times around them, and when Missy finally pulls them out a thick string of drool coats her fingers. Missy wipes them on her jacket, then goes back to considering how best to debauch her sweet Osgood, tilting her chin up with a single finger to better enjoy the way Osgood gulps and shivers. 

“Whatever should I do with you?” Missy says, voice light, teeth bared. Osgood wants to reach out and touch her two hearts, see how fast they are beating. Her hands tingle at her sides. She thinks that that would be unwise. She licks her lips.

“Anything.” Osgood gasps out, and some part of her is ashamed to be so overcome already when this woman has done nothing but chase her down a few hallways and stick her fingers down her throat.  _ Just like a trip to the dentist _ , thinks Osgood, and laughs a bit to herself, and the laugh turns into a moan as Missy thrusts a thigh between Osgood’s legs and presses up against her cunt. Osgood’s hips jut forward involuntarily, immediately, and the Mistress grins at the blush that blooms across Osgood’s cheeks. 

“Anything?” she teases, and she draws back her thigh, and leans in instead to brush the gentlest of kisses against Osgood’s lips. Osgood, despite herself, smiles into the kiss, cataloguing the gentleness, each new feeling, each touch of Missy’s body against her own. Missy’s hand caresses her cheek, and Osgood deepens the kiss, her tongue slipping into Missy’s mouth. Their tongues do not battle for dominance, because, for starters, even in dreams, Osgood knows that’s a stupid phrase, and secondly, both of them know who wins. Osgood dreams about fighting a battle she can’t ever win. But god does it pay to be a sore loser. Missy makes sure of that.

They keep kissing, and now Missy is kissing her way down her neck, sucking a hickey right above her collar where she knows it will show. The sensation of teeth against her skin makes her jump, makes her clit jump too, and she lets out a garbled sound as Missy bites none-so-gently against sensitive skin. Osgood reaches out her hands to trace with wonder the stiff fabric of Missy’s dress, stroking up and down her back to feel her curl into the touch before reaching up to carefully undo Missy’s bun, tangling her hands through Missy’s hair (taking a breath to cry out while Missy nips at her earlobe, tugs until it hurts, then kisses it better, licking in a way Osgood should find gross, but instead finds exceedingly arousing). 

She marvels at the softness of Missy’s hair, of having her like this, undone and undoing. She tugs, sharp and quick and Missy  _ mewls _ and Osgood’s stomach drops out and so keeps tugging, and Missy keeps making those delicious noises that vibrate against her mouth and neck and collarbone. 

With every cry Missy makes, Osgood feels herself get wetter. Her head is so fuzzy, like it’s stuffed with cotton and her throat is stuffed with cotton too except there’s still a line of drool on her chin that she’s too preoccupied to wipe away, and Missy is warm and soft, all coiled energy against her and it’s too much but it’s not enough, and she has turned to lavishing Missy’s neck with kisses and Missy is all she can smell and taste and see, and she smells like burning rubber and roses and blood. 

And all of a sudden she is sinking to her knees, taking Missy down with her and she climbs onto Missy’s lap, feeling awkward but too needy to care as Missy slips her hands (still so cold, with such sharp nails) beneath Osgood’s shirt and laughs when Osgood squirms, cups her breast gently before scoring a single fingernail across Osgood’s left nipple. Osgood arches and makes a sound that gets caught in the back of her throat and then Missy is bending her back, lowering her to the floor, kissing her again like she is trying to pull that sound from her like it’s a prize she deserves. Missy scrapes her other nipple, then tweaks it, hard, and Osgood twists underneath her, biting back a sound, distracted from trying to undo the buttons on Missy’s blouse. In a second, Missy is entirely on top of her, pinning her arms above her head, and rolling her hips into Osgood’s. Osgood jolts helplessly, then winks up at Missy. Missy  _ growls _ , and Osgood swears, if she weren’t already on the ground, that noise would have gotten her there. 

Missy sits on her hips, appraising the woman beneath her: lips, puffy from kissing, ponytail nearly come loose (oh, that won’t do), shirt untucked and rucked up, nipples hard against the fabric, a fragile little thing absolutely covered in lipstick (could use a few more hickies, maybe a bite or two), and still, her Ozzie, eyes dancing and chin up defiant, meeting her gaze with as much of a smile as she dares show, breathing labored, hips wiggling, the hint of fear in those lovely brown eyes. 

She loves her pretty girl like this, but oh, it’s much more delightful when Osgood is too fucked out to even raise her head, her big brown eyes glassy and content, her tremendously flimsy human body freckled with bruises and bites and big lipstick kisses. Oh, Missy enjoys receiving, sure, but what she truly enjoys is taking someone apart. It’s not her fault that Osgood is such an easy target. 

Beneath her, Osgood bites back another moan.

“Come now poppet, none of that. I want to hear you.” Osgood nods and her arms are shaking above her head. Missy reaches out to hold her hands, pat them, stroke down her arms. “Leave those there now, be a good pet. No touching.” Osgood whines, and Missy pauses for a second.

“Something you want?” Missy laughs, fingers butterfly light as she traces along the hem of Osgood’s pants. Osgood blushes, rolls her head to the side as she bucks helplessly, pinned as she is. 

“Touch me.” Osgood’s voice is rough. Missy wonders how long it will take to make her cry.

“Uh uh, pet, that’s not how we ask.” Missy digs her nails into the soft skin of Osgood’s side and rakes down, and she cries out. Oh, that will certainly leave a mark. How yummy. 

But Osgood doesn’t relent. Looks like little kitty wants to play. Very well. Missy can play.

“Touch me,” Osgood says again, voice louder this time. She watches Missy’s smile drop, and her stomach flips in fear, or maybe arousal. One of these days, Osgood should really figure out the difference. Osgood feels so deliciously lightheaded as she watches Missy rear back. 

And then Missy slaps her across the face.

The sting in her face is nothing compared to the ache in her cunt. 

Missy slaps her again, the other side this time, and Osgood is dizzy with powerlessness and wonder. Above her, Missy laughs, and this is not the laugh of the Missy she dreams of, but of the Missy she knows - it is the hawk’s cry, the predator’s laugh, the laugh of a woman who knows she holds all the cards. But here, in her dreams, the fear of this laugh, of this woman gives way to wanting. Missy cannot hurt her here, and so it is here Missy can hurt her. 

(Osgood never knows she is dreaming while she dreams, of course, but here, the Mistress feels safe.)

“Come now, poppet. Ask nice.” Missy’s voice is as sweet as sugar and vicious as syrup, and it slides from her lips and pools between Osgood’s thighs. Missy rocks against Osgood, making her yelp, and it feels so so good, and it’s not enough, and if Missy would just touch her, maybe she could come, but she doesn’t want to play nice, doesn’t want to give in, not yet.

“Fucking touch me, you sick bitch.” Osgood spits, summoning up all the venom she can muster for someone who has nearly kissed her into oblivion (It’s still quite a lot. She is Missy after all). 

Missy goes silent. She climbs off Osgood, stands up, and brushes off her dress. When she stares back down at Osgood, still half-undressed and prone, there is no glimmer in her eye. Osgood can barely breathe, wondering if maybe this is it, maybe this is the time she pushes her too far and Missy finally kills her. Osgood scrambles to her knees and gazes up at her.

“Oh Ozzie, you’re not half as clever as you think.” Osgood keeps her face neutral, waiting.

“I know you want me to break you. I can read it plain as day in your big stupid eyes every time I get close to you. Sometimes, you want to be hurt. And your dear sweet Kate could never do that hurting. She’d tear herself to pieces with that guilt. In fact, with you two, I think it goes the other way, doesn’t it? You want to please Kate so badly, don’t you? You want to please everyone so badly, even me, don’t you? And you hate me! Humans! What funny creatures. 

But you want to hurt Kate, don’t you? You want to hurt her because you and I both know that hurting feels good. But you fear to do the hurting is to become a monster, to become like me. Oh Ozzie, don’t flatter yourself. There’s no one like me. Pain is funny, Ozzie! That’s all it is. You humans are so obsessed with it. But I’ll let you in on a secret. Hurting is fun, sure. But hurting? Hurting someone you love because they want you to hurt them, because they trust you? Oh, Ozzie, that’s positively mouthwatering.”

“Are you going to hit me or not?” Osgood says, though every atom in her body is screaming  _ please please god please hit me hurt me make me yours let me kiss you and please you and beg on my knees for you to touch me and please tell me I’ve done a good job. _

“‘Are you going to hit me or not?’ I gave a big beautiful speech, and all the human can say is ‘are you going to hit me or not?’ Oh well, I suppose it's to be expected. You had such a hard time asking nicely. Would you like to try again?”

“Yes, please, please let me play nice.” The words are tumbling out of Osgood’s mouth before she can think about what she is saying.

“Alright then, poppet, take two. What do you want me to do to you?” Missy crouches down and lifts up her chin, and it’s such a ridiculous position, but Jesus does it make Osgood’s stomach clench. Osgood holds her gaze and Missy is as vulnerable as she’s ever seen her, no mania, no threats, no trickery, just an honest question and the hint of a smirk on her lips.

“Please, Missy, please slap me and kiss me and call me soft names and” her voice drops “dirty names. Please, I’ll do whatever you want me to do, as long as you tell me I’ve done a good job.” Osgood’s voice wobbles at the end, and Missy bends over her, freeing Osgood’s hair from her ponytail and running her hands through it, scratching lightly at Osgood’s scalp.

It’s this tenderness that breaks her, and she falls forward, head against Missy’s chest as Missy runs her hands through Osgood’s hair. She whimpers too overwhelmed to stop it, and it’s only when she feels something wet on her shirt that she realizes she’s crying. Missy brushes her hair from her face, wipes her eyes gently.

“Come now, poppet. You’ve done such a good job. You always do such a good job, you lovely, fragile thing. Oh beautiful, brilliant Ozzie, you’re so stupid to think you could do anything but please me. I’ll slap you later if you want (that’s a promise and a threat)” and here, Missy winks, “but for now let’s get you fixed up, and we can go do some very human things, like watch Only Connect or start a war.” 

Now the ache in her cunt is drowned out by this tightness in her chest, and honestly, she doesn’t know what to feel, still horny and sad and strangely content. Osgood decides she’ll figure it out later. Right now, it's time to eat popcorn with a supervillain. 

Missy reaches out a hand, and Osgood takes it, pulling Missy into a tight hug. They breathe there together, for a moment, and Osgood sighs as she listens to the beat of Missy’s two hearts. 

Missy takes her hand.

They step through the door into the hall, and Osgood wakes up feeling strangely alone, hand still warm.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! leave a comment or kudos if u liked it! i hope u have a lovely day (or night. it is 4:30 am for me, my sleep schedule is fucked, babey)
> 
> can u submit prompts on ao3? idk. lmk.


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